Such Sweet Sorrow
by blueirony
Summary: He had always loved her. But then, she was never his to begin with. Remus/Lily


A/N: I should add a disclaimer for the title of this story. I didn't realise I had shamelessly borrowed it from a quote from Romeo and Juliet, Act 2, Scene 2 written by William Shakespeare until I checked it on a whim in a search engine. I thought I had come up with it by myself, but I suppose some quotes I was forced to learn all those years ago during high school have still stuck with me.

**Such Sweet Sorrow**

_To burn with desire and keep quiet about it is the greatest punishment we can bring on ourselves. – Federico García Lorca_

**one.**

A boy sits in the corner of the library, his tired, achy body slumped awkwardly in a chair too small for his long limbs. The boy's pale green eyes are tired and weary and he fights to keep his eyelids from drooping. A few scars mar the otherwise soft skin of his face and one ugly red scar stands out in contrast to the rest as the boy lifts up an equally scarred hand to rub at his eyes which are threatening to close. He blinks sleepily a few times, shakes his head once before sighing and picking up his quill once more. He slowly smooths the parchment laid out on the table in front of him and chews the end of his quill thoughtfully as he reads an old, battered textbook which lies open in front of him. The boy sighs once more before slowly dipping his quill into an ink bottle and begins to write, the scratching of the quill the only sound in the otherwise silent and still library.

The boy is focused on his writing and so lost in his own world that he does not notice the chair on the other side of the table being pulled out. He does, however, pause when he sees a milky white hand in the corner of his eyes drop a satchel on the table, a hand he remembers watching as it slid up an equally white cheek up to a bed of red hair just a few nights ago at the dinner table.

The boy looks up and his eyes rest on a pair of sparkling green eyes, so vibrant, so full of life, so unlike his own. The boy's tired gazed drinks in the smattering of freckles across a pointed nose and the rose-coloured lips he longs to taste. Not for the first time, his eyes travel the length of the red mane of hair and his fingers itch to run themselves in the soft strands and feel the silk against the roughness of the pads of his fingers.

The girl takes out a sheaf of parchment, unscrews a bottle of ink, dips a quill into her parchment and pauses briefly, catching the boy's eyes and smiling before beginning to scratch away at the parchment.

And though the boy fights it, though the boy forces himself to remember a pair of dancing brown eyes as his friend happily spoke to him just this morning about the very girl in front of him, the boy cannot rest smiling back as his heart skips a beat.

**two.**

The boy lets out a sigh as he lies back on the grass and lets the warm afternoon sunshine fill him from the inside out. The grass is slightly wet but the boy finds the wetness a comfort, a catharsis against his aching body. The full moon was a particularly rough one and the boy has added many scars to his already growing collection.

It is not often the boy has time to himself. His friends, though he loves them dearly, can sometimes be too much for the quiet boy, who is so used to spending time alone. He values his time alone and finds solace in finding a few moments to collect his thoughts, preferably on a sunny day such as this one where he can let the breeze wash away his anxieties, fears and concerns.

The boy does not know how long he spends with his eyes closed, lying against the sweet-smelling grass and letting the serenity of the world calm him before he hears the rustle of grass by his side and the heat of a warm body next to him. He lets out another happy sigh before opening his eyes and immediately freezes as his eyes rest on a hand at his side which is nervously fingering the grass.

A pair of confused green eyes rest upon him and the boy has to fight to not become lost in them. The boy knows he should be making his excuses and walking back to the castle but he finds he cannot look away and is motionless and helpless to the feelings stirring inside him.

"You've been avoiding me. I don't know why."

The angelic whisper is so soft that it is almost carried away with the breeze, but the boy hears her. It is as though his body is tuned with her every movement and sound. The boy hears her and a pain begins to grow in his chest. He closes his eyes briefly before opening them once more.

The green eyes continue to pierce through him and the boy sighs as he realises he cannot keep avoiding this, her, them.

"Lily, I..." His voice trails off as the pain in his chest continues to grow and he finds he cannot continue as the pain threatens to overtake him. Her name, so sweet in his mouth, is only hurting him more and he knows he has to tear himself away before it gets worse.

"Please," she whispers. The boy forces himself to look away and sits up, resting his head against his knees, his hands shaking. He knows he has to do this, but he didn't imagine the pain to be so much. He inhales a few times, taking a few moments to ignore the pull he feels towards her, but freezes as he feels a soft hand close on top of one of his trembling ones.

His eyes fly to hers and his chest stirs painfully once more as he sees the confusion brimming in her eyes slowly turning to tears. Her faces is so innocent and he finds his throat choking up. How can he tell her? How can he tell her that even being in the same room as her is absolute torture when he knows she will never be his?

With a courage he does not realise he has, he brushes her hand away and, though the words hurt as though they have been torn from his chest, and perhaps they have, he looks her in the eye.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, a lump in his throat. "I'm sorry, I just... I can't..."

And then, without bothering to see the tears he knows are welling in her beautiful green eyes, the boy stands up and walks back to the castle, not looking back once, his heart every, every step forcing the knife in his heart to twist even more painfully.

**three.**

The three of them are sat in the common room. The room is slowly filling with chattering students as they happily get ready for a day out in the rare sunshine and the boy is waiting with both of them while the rest of their friends come down from the dormitories to join them.

The two of them are sitting on a couch across from him and the boy is watching in bittersweet happiness as she lets out a small laugh before beaming at the dark haired boy whose arms are around her, before lifting a pale hand to rub his face. The boy cannot help but compare his own scarred, pale face to the youthful, smooth face of his friend and feel slightly bitter. Though he feels happiness for the two of them and revels in the way her eyes sparkle when she speaks to the boy now, the boy cannot ignore the stab of pain in his chest knowing that the cause of her joy is his friend and not him.

He watches as his friend's eyes twinkle mischievously as he whispers something in her ear and the boy watches as she throws her head back and laughs, her sweet voice filling the room and his chest and cannot help but smile. Though it pains him every time he sees the two of them together, it is difficult to not be swept away in the obvious joy and affection the two have for each other.

His friend gazes at the girl, also beaming and the two appear to be lost in their own little world. The boy looks at the obvious deep feelings the two of them have displayed on their faces and sighs resignedly. No matter how much he tries, he knows he will never be able to share that joy with her, he will never be able to build a world with her that they can call their own.

And as he watches her soft, milky hand play with the fingers of his friend's hand, a small piece of the boy's heart breaks as he realises in this moment that he has to start letting her go.

**four.**

Beautiful is not the word to describe her. Beautiful is a sunrise as it fills the early morning sky with oranges, pinks and yellows and welcomes in a new day, a new beginning. Beautiful is the swell of the ocean, the sweet smell that can fill your entire being as you watch it crash against the shore.

She is not beautiful. She is something more. There is not a word to describe the beauty the boy sees in her. The boy's eyes travel from her small feet encased in their delicate shoes, up her slight figure outlined in the white of her dress, up to her smooth neck that he longs to kiss, her vivid green eyes that have haunted his dreams before he even knew what true beauty was.

Her smile is gentle and warm and he smiles back. She slowly reaches forward with a hand and he pauses a moment before reaching out his own and gently clasping her small hand in his. A shiver passes through his body at his touch and, to his surprise, a thin sheen of tears well in her eyes as she continues to smile at him.

The two continue to gaze at each other and he is surprised when she squeezes his hand slightly before gently nodding her head once, the red curls bouncing as she lifts her head back to up to look at him. And in this moment, just the two of them, where the world cannot touch them, he finds tears threatening his own eyes.

Because she has known. He knows that she has always known. And though he knows that she will never be his, suddenly, standing in this room with her, her soft hand in his, the pain doesn't hurt him anymore.

And for the first time in what seems like years, he feels he can breathe.

**five.**

The sun is warm on his face as he slowly walks between the rows of stones. It is as though the world is mocking him. For how can the sun shine on a day like this? How can the sun shine, the trees continue to grow and the birds sing? How can the world continue to turn when it feels as though his own world has once more stopped and will never move again, like it does every time on this day of the year?

Each step is heavy, a stab to his already broken heart, but he continues to place one tired foot in front of another until his eyes rest on a familiar stone where he stops.

He stands still for a few moments, huddled in his coat, his fists gently clenching until he feels the sharp dig of his fingernails in his palms. But he is immune to the pain. He welcomes the pain. For he cannot feel anything but numb as he stands in this spot he has stood so many times before.

His pale green eyes look at the stone in front of him and his eyes well with tears. Even though a thousand suns have set, the pain is still as fresh as it was that day all those years ago when his world fell down around him.

He has found happiness. But he has also found guilt. And, now, staring at the stone in front of him, he does not know which emotion is threatening to overwhelm the other.

He slowly brings one of his hands out of his coat and lifts it shakily to his lips where he presses a kiss to the tips of his fingers. He leans down and exhales a shaky breath before he presses the same fingers to the headstone.

"I'm sorry, Lily. I'm so sorry." His voice is a whisper as his fingers continue to rest on the stone, the silver of the ring on one of the fingers twinkling in the sun.

And, like he does every year, he allows the tears to fall.

FIN


End file.
